


A Good Vintage

by JenTheSweetie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, and possibly go skinny dipping, the Avengers get drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenTheSweetie/pseuds/JenTheSweetie
Summary: “You own a what?”After Ultron shows up, instead of taking the Avengers to his secret family, Clint takes them to his secret winery.  Things go… a little bit differently.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 84
Kudos: 326





	A Good Vintage

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Snapjack for prompting me a year ago with "instead of a secret family, Clint has a secret winery" and then cheering me on when I came back with THIS.

“You own a _what_?” Tony said.

“A winery,” Clint said.

“As in, a place with grapes,” Tony said. 

“That’s the commonly agreed upon definition, yes.” 

“And fancy people and viticulturists and you know, class?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so surprised,” Clint said. “I’m a complex person. Much like my wines.”

“Does anybody else have any secret businesses they’d like to share with the class?” Tony said, whirling on the other Avengers. “Are you hiding a Peruvian banana farm from me, Bruce? Cap, please tell me you’re not running a nail salon in Queens.”

“It’s actually on Long Island,” Steve said from the front of the jet. “You sure you’re okay with this, Clint? If anybody notices us…”

“Honestly, it would be great free marketing,” Clint said. “Things have been a little slow this season.”

“Well, can you blame them? Last year’s vintage was pretty unimpressive,” Natasha said.

Tony spun toward the weapons cache, where Natasha was inventorying ammo. “I’m sorry, _what_? You know about this?” 

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Do you _really_ think he could run a winery on his own?”

“I would take offense if it wasn’t completely true,” Clint said.

“I have a question,” Tony said. “I mean, that’s a lie, I have literally a _million_ questions, but the very first one is, did you _steal_ it?”

“How would I steal an entire winery?” 

“I can think of three ways off the top of my head,” Natasha said. “Sorry, four.”

“I did have a life before you met me, Tony,” Clint said. “Maybe I was super into wine.”

“You were an ex-carnie merc with a kink for outdated weapons choices.”

“And an unfortunate tendency to accept non-traditional payment,” Natasha added.

“You got the winery for a _job_?” Tony said. “This is a _murder winery_?”

“No, it’s not a murder winery,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a breaking and entering, grand larceny and, like, brief kidnapping winery.”

“Well, that’s much better,” Bruce said.

-

“Pretty nice, right?” Clint said smugly.

Tony whistled as he stepped off the jet and stared up at what could only be called a _manor_. “No offense, but this is _way_ nicer than anything I could have ever expected of you.”

“Offense fully taken,” Clint said. “Okay, so I called ahead and made sure rooms were made up for everybody, if you need anything this is Edgar - hey Edgar, these are my friends, you know who they are - Edgar’s the butler - ”

“The _butler_?” Bruce said.

“Somebody has to look after the place,” Natasha said, hefting her backpack and pushing past him. “He rents it out to bachelorette parties and corporate retreats and rich guys looking for places to bring their mistresses and stuff.”

“Your usual room is made up for you, Miss Rushman,” Edgar said, and Tony choked.

“You’re a dear, Edgar,” Natasha said, flashing him a winning smile. 

“Just stopping by for a little vacation, Mr. Barton?” Edgar said, accompanying them all up the front drive.

“Something like that,” Clint said. “Bedrooms are up the stairs, kitchen’s in the back, and the wine cellar is officially open for business.”

“It’s seven in the morning,” Steve said. “And this isn’t a vacation, this is - ”

“Just a long weekend away,” Tony interrupted loudly.

Steve shot him a glare. “Right,” he said tersely. “All right, team, get cleaned up and meet back here in thirty minutes.”

“For margaritas!” Tony called.

-

There wasn’t any margarita mix, but by the time Tony showed up there _was_ a half-empty bottle of wine in the middle of the dining room table, which he selflessly stepped in to help finish off.

“So how do you afford this place?” Tony said. “Wineries are notoriously unprofitable, and I know whatever SHIELD was paying you before it went belly up couldn’t have covered it.”

“A little out of the way place like this is great for money laundering,” Clint said.

“Are you joking? I can’t tell.”

“Neither can the IRS,” Clint said, handing him a glass of wine.

Steve, freshly showered and looking like even more of a tightass than usual, cleared his throat. “Should we really be drinking?”

“Got any better plans, oh fearless leader?” Tony said. “Don’t make us wait, I’m on pins and needles.”

“Pretty bold coming from the guy who got us into this in the first place,” Steve said.

“I’m sorry, I was doing something to permanently keep us _out_ of this,” Tony shot back.

“And clearly that went _really_ well,” Steve said. “Got any more great ideas that might get us all killed?”

“Not at the moment, but give me a few hours, I’ll think of something,” Tony said witheringly.

“This is very drinkable,” Bruce said, holding up his glass thoughtfully.

“Yeah, the 2013 is decent,” Clint said.

-

“I don’t think this is what Cap had in mind when he said _laying low_ ,” Tony said.

Natasha didn’t lift her sunglasses, but Tony could tell the look she was giving him could best be described as _unimpressed_. “I don’t see how this doesn’t fit the definition.”

“Where did you even get a bikini? Do you store one in the Quinjet?” Tony said, easing into the deck chair next to hers and getting comfortable. 

“I keep things here. This is actually Natalie Rushman’s permanent address.”

Tony nearly choked on a gulp of prosecco. “I’m just gonna move past _that_. So how’s the whole, you know, recovery from the intensely personal mind control attack going?”

“The view is helping,” Natasha said. “You?”

“Edgar gave me a tour of the cellars,” Tony said. “There were samples. I’m in a good place. Is Thor around?”

“He left to go try to see the future or something,” Natasha said, taking a sip of pinot grigio.

“That would have been handy, like, 72 hours ago.”

“This place has a _pool_?” Bruce said, emerging from the main house and looking around in confusion. “I was trying to find the kitchen.”

“Good plan,” Natasha said. “Edgar makes a great quiche.”

“Are you, um - do you swim?” Bruce said, looking a little flustered as he approached.

“I know how,” Natasha said, suppressing a smile.

“That’s - I mean, of course you do,” Bruce said, turning red.

“Prosecco?” Tony offered helpfully.

“I’m good,” Bruce said, taking the deck chair on Natasha’s other side. “Did you guys see the tiny soaps in the bathroom? I didn’t think Clint was a tiny soap kind of guy.”

“I don’t think we know as much about Clint as we thought we did,” Tony said. “Speaking of! Clint, who’s your tiny soap vendor?”

“Edgar deals with toiletries,” Clint said, tossing a towel down and joining them. “So, Tony, I see that at least one of my sparkling varietals is up to your standards.”

“I mean, it’s not like I have a lot of options,” Tony said, taking a swig. “When I asked Edgar if he had any McCallan, you’d think I kicked his cat.”

“He’s very loyal,” Clint said. “Nat, remember that time that contractor tried to get pictures of you sunbathing?”

“It’s rare I get to hear a man scream that way when I’m not the one causing it,” Natasha said fondly. “Hi, Cap. Come for a swim?”

“Must have forgot my trunks when I was packing for the fight,” Steve said. 

“What a shame,” Tony said. “I bet you’d dominate at Marco Polo.”

“Anybody have any idea where Thor went?” Steve said, ignoring Tony.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Well, my teammates don’t always tell me things,” Steve said.

“Okay, none of that,” Tony said. “We’re off the clock. We’re sitting by the pool. We’re all aware of the massive mess waiting for us, but right now we’re in hiding, so can you lay off me for like, five minutes?”

“I was actually talking about the winery,” Steve said, waving a hand at the manor behind him. “But if you wanted to get into a who’s who of hiding things - ”

“Bruce and I were doing _research,_ ” Tony said.

“That would affect the team,” Steve argued. 

“That would _end_ the team.”

“More wine?” Bruce said, leaning forward with a bottle. 

“Every time somebody tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die,” Steve said. “Every time.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to retort - 

And then Clint yelled, “Cannonball!” and jumped into the water, creating a splash that drenched all of them.

“Excuse me, boys,” Natasha said, removing her dripping sunglasses and stepping toward the edge of the pool. “I have a drowning to facilitate.”

“You got some in my glass,” Bruce said, frowning.

Tony took a sip of his own. “I’m tasting lemon, notes of vanilla, and just a _hint_ of chlorine. Cap, any additional notes?”

But Steve was already jogging away.

-

Tony would have expected dinner to be strained, and it probably would have been enormously so, except by the time it was served 4/5ths of them were drunk.

“Even Bruce!” Tony said triumphantly.

“I’m not drunk,” Bruce said, and immediately knocked over his wine glass.

“You’re drunk,” Tony said. “Hey, can the other guy get drunk?”

“How about we not find out?” Clint said, emptying another bottle into his glass. “I have a lot of wine here, and wine is, you know, what’s the word. Breaks. Crash. _Fragile_. It’s fragile. The Hulk - you know I love the guy, but he _smashes_.”

“I’m not drunk!” Bruce insisted, mopping up the spilt wine ineffectually with his napkin.

“Do you think he’d be a happy drunk?” Tony said. 

“Have you ever seen him be a happy _anything_?” Natasha said.

“I mean, maybe booze would do it.”

“Process’t fast,” Bruce mumbled.

“What was that, drunkie?” Tony said.

“He couldn’t be drunk!” Bruce said. “The other guy. His metabolism is like - it’s a hundred times - it’s _fast_.”

“Oh,” Clint said. “What if he had some of Thor’s special liquor?”

“Bad idea,” Natasha said.

“Might be efficient during grape-stomping season,” Clint said thoughtfully, and pulled out a small, unusually-shaped, tightly corked elixir bottle.

“Where’d you get that?” Steve asked.

“Thor left it out on the bar at the tower,” Clint said, looking proud of himself. “Should we break into it?”

“After six bottles of wine just at dinner? It might kill you guys,” Steve said.

“Is that a challenge?” Tony asked, challengingly. 

“If I wanted to see you dead I would have done a lot of things differently the past few days,” Steve said, snatching the bottle from Clint’s hands. 

“Oh, but _you’re_ gonna have some?” Tony grumbled.

“Just holding onto it,” Steve said. “For safekeeping.” 

“Maybe you could use it to shove that stick further up your ass,” Tony muttered.

“Couldn’t quite hear you, Tony, what was that?” Steve said, even though they all knew he had perfect ears. Perfect hearing. Whatever, he was - perfect, or something. 

“Let’s go down to the caves,” Natasha said.

“There’s more wine in the kitchen,” Tony said.

“Not for wine,” Natasha said. “For spelunking.”

“Spelunking,” Bruce said. “In wine caves?”

“I’ll get the ropes,” Clint said.

“I’ll get my helmet,” Natasha said.

“Is this really a good - oh, they’re gone,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair. “You know, I really didn’t think, when we got out of Wakanda, that we’d been spending tonight doing… this.”

“It’s called avoidant coping,” Tony said, draining his glass. “Right, Bruce?”

Bruce, who was dozing with his head propped up on his hand, straightened guiltily. “I’m not that kind of doctor.” 

“But he agrees with me,” Tony said. “More wine? Anybody? Just me?”

“I think I’m gonna,” Bruce said, and yawned, “bed.”

Steve glanced at his watch. “It’s 8:15.”

“Yup,” Bruce said.

“Night!” Tony called over his shoulder, because he was distracted by the bottles. There were _so many_ _bottles_. It was too bad wine didn’t mix and match well, he thought, filling his glass as high as he could while also guaranteeing (well, mostly guaranteeing) that he wouldn’t spill on his way back to the table.

But when he got back to the table it was empty.

Tony frowned. He was drunk, and it had been a _day_ , and it was only 8:15 and there was no way he could sleep, and what the fuck was he going to do if he had to spend the rest of the night _alone_?

Then he noticed that the French doors were wide open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze. He knew there was only one person who could be out there, and it wasn’t like _that_ was a conversation he was super excited about, but hell, it’s not like he had anything better to do, so he took his brimming glass out onto the veranda.

“Nice night,” he commented as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, and he blinked as Steve quickly shoved something into his pocket.

“Feels wrong to be on vacation when Ultron is out there making plans to destroy us,” Steve said.

“I thought you said this wasn’t a vacation,” Tony said, leaning against the pillar next to him. “Everybody’ll sleep off their hangovers tomorrow and then we’ll get back to business. Plus, you guys weren’t going to get anything done today, not after - well, you know.”

Steve glanced at him. “ _You_ built Ultron after the Maximoff girl whammied you.”

“Well, I’m slightly manic at the best of times,” Tony said. “So what’d she show you?”

Steve stared out at the sloping fields and rolling hills and didn’t reply.

“What, nothing? C’mon, Cap. Spit it out, it’ll make you feel better.”

“I was - back,” Steve said. “With - it’s not possible, so it doesn’t - ”

“Oh,” Tony said. “Home.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I meant to say no. This stuff is strong.”

“Strong? What’s - oh my god,” Tony said as it clicked into place. “You’re drinking Thor’s Asgardian booze!”

“I don’t think he’ll mind,” Steve said, pulling it out of his pocket and taking another sip. “And if he does, he’s not here to mention it.” 

“And here I thought you were too concerned about the _mission_ to partake.”

“If wine did anything to me I’d’ve been drunk by noon,” Steve admitted, a smile threatening his face. “Which I… also didn’t mean to admit.” 

“I probably won’t remember in the morning,” Tony said, even though he was pretty sure he would. “Can you believe Clint was holding out on us? All this time, and we didn’t know he owned a major vacation destination. Hell, _I_ don’t even have a winery.”

“I’m sure he’ll let you bring Pepper back for a visit when things settle down.”

“Well, she’d probably want to come without me,” Tony said. “Seeing as how she moved back to Malibu a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, so was I,” Tony said. “What about you? Anybody special in the picture?”

“Not this side of the 21st century.” 

“Well, they say dating is hard after 80.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve said dryly. He took the elixir bottle out of his pocket and took another long swallow. “That was probably a bad idea.”

“Can you get hangovers? Because if you can, tomorrow is gonna suck.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Steve said. “Hey, want to go swimming?”

“Uh,” Tony said, “what?”

“I’ll race you to the pool,” Steve said, and vaulted over the side of the balcony to land on his feet in the grass a full story below. 

“That’s - okay, wow, not fair, I can’t do that,” Tony muttered, heading back into the dining room to take the stairs down to the ground level like a normal person. “You know, Cap,” he called as he jogged out the door toward the pool, “you are a really annoying drunk, you can’t just run away in the middle of a conver - _oh_.”

He froze. Steve was at the edge of the pool, and he was - yes, Tony was pretty certain this wasn’t a dream, this was really happening - he was stepping out of his jeans, he was dropping his briefs, he was _completely naked_.

“Um,” he said, and then Steve dived into the pool.

Steve broke the surface with a grin, his hair plastered back and shining in the moonlight. “What, you never been skinny dipping?”

“Oh, I’ve been skinny dipping,” Tony said, edging toward the pool. “I did spring break in Cancun in the 90s. There were Victoria’s Secret models involved.”

“Okay, so come on,” Steve said, kicking off the edge of the wall. “The water’s great. Isn’t this the kind of dumb stuff people get up to when they’re drunk?”

“Well, _people_ , sure,” Tony said, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it on one of the lounge chairs, “but I didn’t think _you_ \- ”

“I don’t think you know me as well as you think you do, Tony,” Steve interrupted, smirking, and Tony felt his jaw drop, because if he hadn’t known better he would have thought Steve was _flirting_. “Sorry, you need me to turn around?”

Tony looked down and realized he was standing, frozen, mostly undressed but with his thumbs under the elastic of his boxers. “No, I don’t care if you - ”

But Steve had already spun around and splashed under the water, so Tony took the opportunity to drop trou and skedaddle down the pool stairs. It was a little cooler than he would have liked, but soon the worst was over and he was paddling out to the center, where Steve was floating languidly and apparently without any effort at all.

“Nice, right?” Steve said, gesturing to the water.

“Little cold, but I guess you’ve felt worse.”

“Rude,” Steve said, and flicked a handful of water at him. “I really hope we don’t get attacked while we’re drunk and naked.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you got drunk and naked,” Tony pointed out. 

“How come I always have to be the guy who thinks about everything?”

“Because that’s who you are. You’re the responsible one. You’re like a dad, but with muscles.”

Steve frowned. “I’m not like a dad.”

“Well, you’re definitely not like my dad,” Tony admitted, and sent a splash in Steve’s direction. “Chill out, Cap. Nobody likes a moody drunk.”  


Steve flipped over and backstroked the length of the pool. “I thought I was being a fun drunk. We’re skinny dipping!”

“You’re kind of a wild card,” Tony said. “Maybe next you’ll start crying over an entire box of pizza rolls.”

“Pizza rolls do sound pretty good,” Steve said, paddling in Tony’s general direction. “Do you think Clint has any?”

“Edgar would probably make a run,” Tony said, watching the water drip down Steve’s pecs - er, looking at nothing, in a casual friendly way. Yes. That.

“One of my friends growing up, his dad had a still in the basement,” Steve said. “It wasn’t a big op, just made it for him and his buddies in the neighborhood, but he let us keep it going after ‘33 because we were underage for a few more years. Anyway, one time, I was maybe sixteen, we got drunk and took the train into Manhattan and went swimming in the pond in Central Park. And it’s not like it was allowed back then, but it was a hot night, you know, and we were kids, but anyway some cop came by and chased us away and we ran all the way to Rockefeller Center carrying our clothes. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tony, who was genuinely surprised and thought he was hiding it, said, “That was just, like, a _lot_ of rule-breaking.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told anybody that story.”

“Well, it’s definitely not in your Smithsonian exhibit.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Steve said. “I’m sure you got up to way more interesting stuff.”

“At sixteen? I was going to college and trying to build a robot out of junker cars and hanging out with kids three years older than me. Trying to get laid when you’re the youngest kid in the freshman class, not fun, can’t recommend.”

“Seems like you figured it out eventually,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“It was a trying time for myself and the nation,” Tony said. 

“Come on, I’m sure you were a cute kid.”

“ _Kid_ being the operative word,” Tony said. “I was short. Google it.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to talk to me of all people about short.”

“Okay, but,” Tony said, and gestured to Steve’s whole situation, “you filled out.”

Steve looked down. “Yeah, when I was 25.”

“And I’m sure the years since have been good to you.”

  
“They’ve been okay,” Steve said. “Not so much the ones in the ice, but - ”

“You said it, not me,” Tony said, and splashed Steve right in the face before he could get all moody-drunk about it.

Steve spat out a mouthful of water. “You really want to go, Stark?”

“In a splash-off? I’m pretty sure I could ta - ” Tony said, before he was cut off by a literal tsunami. “Okay, Clint’s gonna have to refill the pool if you keep that up.”

“You started it,” Steve said, following up with a smaller splash.

“Well, you’re continuing it,” Tony said, splashing him back and then dunking under the water to avoid the counter-attack. The pool was lit from below and the view under the water was, not to put too fine a point on it, very worth the cost of admission of over-chlorinated eyeballs. 

“ - not fair, that’s cheating,” Steve was saying when he emerged, and Tony was so busy thinking about force and angle of attack that he didn’t realize anyone else was around until Clint’s voice rang out, clear as a bell, “So this all seems normal.”

Steve and Tony both whirled around to see Clint and Natasha standing at the edge of the pool. 

“Just another Saturday night at the office,” Natasha drawled, holding back a laugh.

“Wait a second,” Clint said, his jaw dropping, “are you guys _naked_?”

“Steve’s drunk,” Tony said by way of explanation.

“Tony’s drunk too,” Steve countered.

“I am also drunk,” Tony admitted. “How was spelunking?”

“Definitely less entertaining than this,” Nat said.

“If you want to warm up, there’s a hot tub too, jets are behind the towel stand,” Clint said. “Or you could, you know, find a _different_ way to - ”

“All right, all right,” Steve interrupted, hoisting himself out of the pool (and look, Tony wasn’t alone, Nat and Clint weren’t even _pretending_ not to stare) and grabbed a towel from the pile but did not, and Tony couldn’t help but wonder if it was strategic, use it to cover literally anything. “I think I’m done for the night. Uh, unless you wanted to go in the hot tub, Tony - ”

“I think I’ll survive,” Tony said. “Throw me one of those?”

Steve tossed the one he was holding in Tony’s direction. “Tony’s not comfortable with nudity,” he whispered conspiratorially to Clint and Natasha.

“Excuse me, not all of us joined the Army and got used to being naked with our coworkers,” Tony said. “Put a towel on, Spangles.”

Steve grinned. “Sorry, Is this offending you?

“I don’t think ‘offended’ is the word he’s looking for,” Clint said, and if Tony hadn’t desperately needed the towel at that moment for various coverage reasons, he would have thrown it at Clint’s face.

“Do you have pizza rolls?” Steve asked, completely missing the joke to Tony’s extreme relief.

“Uh, no,” Clint said. “But Edgar could probably make us a pizza. With like, fresh dough.”

Steve looked disappointed. “I kind of just wanted the rolls.”

“I can make nachos,” Natasha said.

“Yesss,” Steve said, throwing his hands up in celebration. 

“Uh, did you guys forget this is my place?” Clint said. “You think you can just skinny dip in my pool, use about a million of my towels and then eat all my nachos?”

“Um, yes,” Tony said.

“I love nachos,” Steve said.

-

“I told you I love nachos,” Steve said unapologetically as Natasha built their third plate’s worth of them.

“It’s lucky you don’t get drunk more often, I’d be going broke,” Tony said.

“Yeah, you’d have to rent out the Tower to pay the grocery bills,” Clint said, licking his fingers.

Natasha shoved the plate in the microwave and picked up her wine glass. “Or sell mini arc reactors at Best Buy.”

“I could just get another job,” Steve argued, taking Natasha’s glass out of her hands for a sip.

“I think you need to be able to open a PDF to get a regular 9-5 these days,” Tony said, peering into the wine fridge. “Do we want a cab or a pinot?”

“I can open a whatever it’s called,” Steve said, sipping Natasha’s wine. “And I want a cab.”

“You don’t get a vote,” Natasha said, stealing her glass back. “Open the pinot.”

“Why don’t I get a vote?” Steve said, frowning.

“What’s all the noise?” Bruce said around a yawn as he traipsed into the kitchen. He peered into the microwave. “Is that nachos?” 

“Steve’s hungry,” Tony explained.

“I could eat some nachos,” Bruce mused.

“Nachos all around!” Clint said, spilling half a glass in his excitement. 

“You don’t get a vote because wine doesn’t get you drunk,” Tony said, poking a finger into Steve’s chest.

Steve grabbed Tony’s finger and frowned down at it. “Yeah, but I can still _taste_ it.” 

“Not my problem,” Tony said, pulling his finger out of Steve’s grasp and burying his face in his glass. “Should we turn some music on?”

“Yes!” Clint said, grabbing the nachos and leading the way into the adjourning parlor (because really, it was a parlor, that’s the only term for a room like that, Tony would know, and how weird was it that Clint had a _parlor_?) “Any requests? Not that I’m taking any.”

“Give me those,” Steve said, taking the plate out of Clint’s hands. “You’re gonna spill.”

“We can always make a new plate,” Natasha pointed out, settling in on the sofa.

“Waste not, want not,” Steve said, licking a glop of sour cream off his pinky finger.

“Okay, what CD’s do we have here. Ooh, how’s everybody feel about Celine Dion?”

“CD’s?” Tony scoffed. “What year are you from, 2002?”

“I’m sorry my sound system isn’t up to your standards,” Clint said, rifling through his CD tower. “You’re welcome to go stay at that _other_ secret mansion you have access to. Oh, wait.”

“You got any Glen Miller?” Steve suggested.

“Oh my god, you are a walking Greatest Generation stereotype,” Tony said.

“What! I can’t listen to old music once in a while? You still listen to that stuff from the 80s.”

“I’m sorry, _that stuff from the 80s_ is classic.”

“And Glen Miller isn’t?”

“Okay, boys, settle down,” Natasha soothed. “None of this matters because we’re listening to Destiny’s Child.”

“Yeah, right,” Clint said, going over to the media cabinet and fiddling with it. “Aw, speakers.”

“Look at that,” Steve said, sidling up to Tony while Clint worked on the sound system.

“Look at what?” Tony said.

“Bruce and Nat.”

“Bruce and Nat what?”

“I mean _look.”_

“What am I looking for?”

“Okay, don’t _stare_ ,” Steve hissed. He grabbed Tony’s shoulders and spun them a quarter-turn. “Pretend you’re looking at me. Look over my shoulder. Are you looking?”

“I’m looking,” Tony said, because it was somewhat _trying_ to be told you could openly stare at Steve but only if you actually looked past him.

“So what are you seeing? I mean really _look_.”

“I mean, I’m seeing Bruce on the couch and Natasha on the arm of the chair and _oh_ ,” Tony said, as it hit him with a nearly-audible _thunk_. “Is that - really?”

“Really,” Steve said.

“But like, _really_?”

“I think so,” Steve said. “I caught them flirting at your party the other night too.”

“Should we - do something about it?”

  
Steve frowned. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, stop it? Or maybe encourage it?”

Steve leaned closer to Tony, and Tony leaned closer too, automatically. “Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Well, I don’t think it’s the _best_ idea, but it’s not like we have an HR department. Hey, stop looking over your shoulder, they’re gonna catch you,” Tony said, grabbing Steve’s chin and forcing him to look straight ahead, which, entirely coincidentally, happened to be right at Tony. 

Steve smirked. “You trying to get an HR violation of your own, Stark?”

“I’m pretty sure the first offense of the night was you suggesting we go skinny dipping,” Tony said, holding Steve’s gaze.

“You didn’t seem to mind at the time,” Steve retorted.

“All right, who wants to hear Baby Got Back?” Clint yelled. “Just kidding, one vote is enough, let’s do this!” 

With impeccable timing, Sir Mix-a-Lot blasted through the manor, and Tony released Steve’s face like he’d been burned. This was getting dangerous, and stupid, and really short-sighted, and Tony knew that because he knew dangerous and stupid and short-sighted _very_ well, they were on a first name basis and he could see them coming a mile away.

There was only one thing to do: leave. He grabbed his glass of wine and swiveled around and dropped in an elegant heap (if he did say so himself, which he did) onto the sofa next to Bruce.

“Hiya,” he said, taking a dainty sip. “What’s going on over here?”

Bruce and Natasha exchanged a glance. “Not much.”

“No?” Tony said. “So what are you guys talking about?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha said.

“Not you and Cap,” Bruce contributed.

“ _Definitely_ not you and Cap skinny dipping,” Natasha added.

“Well, we had to make do, we didn’t exactly pack for a tropical beach vacation.”

“Hey, no complaints, I didn’t mind the view,” Natasha said, “but then again I don’t think Steve even noticed the rest of us were there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony said.

Natasha smirked. “Three guesses.”

“I’m sorry, if anyone is making dumb drunk decisions tonight, it’s definitely you two.”

Bruce reddended, but Natasha just arched an eyebrow and said, “Who’s to say we haven’t already?”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying - ”

“Nobody’s saying anything,” Bruce said quickly.

“We should get to bed,” Natasha said, standing up and looking down at Bruce meaningfully. “And maybe you should get yourself to bed too, Stark. Before Rogers does it for you.”

“Go to hell, Romanov.”

“Nighty night,” Natasha sang on her way out the door.

Bruce clapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I’d love to stay for moral support, but I absolutely do not want to.”

And then he followed Natasha without looking back.

“Thanks, pal,” Tony said wistfully. 

“Where’d they go?” Steve asked, flopping down next to Tony.

Tony inched away. “Bed. Not together. Maybe together. I don’t know.”

“Huh,” Steve said. He pulled out Thor’s elixir bottle and took a sip. “Wow.”

“You’re okay with it?” Tony asked cautiously. “As the team leader, I mean?”

Steve shrugged. “What they do on their own time isn’t my business. Besides, it can bring people together. Team bonding and all.”

“You know from personal experience?” Tony said, and then winced, because of course he did, everyone knew he did, Tony’s 3rd grade _history_ book knew he did.

“Eh,” Steve said. “You know. And a couple of the Howlies - well, fellas got up to what they got up to. What they still get up to. Fine by me.”

Well _that_ isn’t in the history books, Tony thought. “I don’t think we could’ve stopped them anyway. I do not have any interest in seeing what happens if you interrupt Bruce in the act, if you know what I mean. I get enough naked Hulk by day.”

Steve grimaced. “Why’d you have to put that image in my head.”

“It was in mine, I had to share, that’s the only way to make it go away.”

“Unfair,” Steve grumbled, and elbowed him lazily.

Through the speakers, a potent mix of 90s hip hop emanated. Clint had disappeared, possibly for more wine (or more nachos), and the parlor suddenly felt very, very private.

And Steve was looking at him.

“What?” Tony said.

“Nothing,” Steve said, and smiled.

And here was the thing: Tony knew what it looked like when someone was coming onto him. He had experience - he had a _ton_ of experience, with all kinds of people, women, men, younger, older, supermodels and politicians, CEOs and Oscar winners, a _lot_ of data points, and a lot of experience analyzing that data, to generally very positive effect. And Tony was an engineer. He believed in data. 

Except right now the data was behaving very oddly. Because if he was reading it correctly - and he always was - Steve Rogers was...

“I should hit the hay,” Tony said, leaping to his feet. “Big day tomorrow. Planning. Plotting. Saving the world. The usual.”

“Definitely,” Steve said. “You’re right. Should we do the dishes?”

Tony looked around at the wine-glass-and-nacho strewn room. “Uh. Maybe in the morning?”

“Definitely in the morning,” Steve agreed, and turned off the speakers.

The parlor felt somehow brighter in the sudden silence, and Tony jerked a thumb toward the stairs. “So - ”

“Yup,” Steve said, gesturing for Tony to lead the way.

Tony climbed the stairs slowly. If Tony was a little less drunk, or maybe a little less fucked up about what the Maximoff girl had shown him, or maybe just a better guy all around, he would’ve kept looking straight ahead, said goodnight, and walked down the hall to his guest suite all alone.

But it turned out Tony was none of those things, and so as they got to the top of the stairs Tony turned around and said, “Do you - ”

And Steve surged forward and kissed him.

For a blinding moment Tony’s mind went blank. There weren’t a lot of other possible reactions to being kissed by Steve Rogers; he basically had to do a hard reboot, and once his brain came partially back online he blurted out, “How drunk are you?”

Steve pulled back. “Drunk enough to think this is a good idea.”

“Perfect,” Tony breathed, and kissed him.

-

Steve wasn’t there when Tony woke up.

Tony wasn’t surprised. For one thing, everyone knew that Steve was usually up with the chickens (proverbially speaking; he was from Brooklyn) and it was approaching 10 am. And for another thing, Tony was used to his one night stands disappearing in the morning.

Huh. One night stand. That was probably not _quite_ the right term for hooking up with a friend and colleague you were currently on the run with. No pretending not to recognize each other in the elevator after this, that was for sure. 

He considered staying in bed until his headache went away or until the heat death of the universe, whichever came first, but was eventually lulled downstairs by the memory of Gatorade in the fridge and the scent of bacon in the air. He assumed he’d find Edgar in the kitchen, so he was mid yawn when he walked in and found a very, ah, _familiar_ backside at the stove.

“Eggs?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder.

Tony nodded mutely, because he didn’t think he’d ever had a one night stand make him breakfast before. Their chef, maybe. He poured himself a cup of coffee and hunkered down at the counter with as much water as he could carry. “How are _you_ feeling this morning?”

“Would it make you feel better if I lied and said hungover?” Steve said, looking amused.

“Ugh. No hangovers _and_ you have that ass? No fair.”

“I don’t think you have much to complain about on that front,” Steve said, which was nice of him. 

“Rest of the team up?” Tony said, to avoid mentioning it. 

“Yup, you’re the only layabout around here.”

“Well, this guy kept me up last night.”

Steve snorted. “I don’t seem to remember you being so eager to go to sleep.”

“Never said I was,” Tony said. He watched Steve push eggs around in the pan and tried to figure out if they were going to have to talk about it.

“Look, I don’t do that very often,” Steve said, “but I had a pretty good time last night.”

Tony wasn’t shocked by either of those revelations, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. “Me too.”

“And considering we might be facing certain doom later today,” Steve said, dishing eggs out onto a plate, “and, you know, I try really hard these days not to go to my death leaving things unsaid, lesson learned, right?” 

“Fair,” Tony said.

“So anyway, I just want to make sure to say that I… I had a good time,” Steve said, looking up and holding Tony’s gaze. “And if that’s all it ever is, then it was still a good time. So thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony said automatically, and then rewound and continued, “wait, what do you mean, _if_ that was all it ever is?”

Steve pushed the plate of eggs toward Tony. “What do _you_ mean?”

“I mean it’s not like - a thing,” Tony said.

“Yeah, I just said it doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“But do you _want_ it to be a thing?” 

“I feel like my interest was _pretty_ clear last night,” Steve said, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, yeah, but you were drunk.”

“Right,” Steve agreed. “Which is why I actually went for it.”

“Ah,” Tony said. “So it wasn’t just… a drunk thing.”

Steve snorted. “Not really my style.”

“Yeah, in retrospect it’s really not,” Tony said.

“Was it just a drunk thing for _you_?”

“I think I can pretty safely say it was not.”

“Okay,” Steve said, “so - ”

“So I think that means we may have to talk about this more,” Tony said. “After, you know, we deal with the crazy murder robot who thinks we all need to be wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Right,” Steve said. “Good plan.”

“But I mean,” Tony hazarded, “it’s not like we couldn’t _kiss_.”

“Real smooth, Stark,” Steve smirked, and leaned across the table to press a bacon-y soft kiss to Tony’s lips.

Tony pouted. “That was too fast, I barely even noticed it.”

“I thought you said we had work to do,” Steve said, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, we do,” Tony said, “but I feel like we have, I don’t know, thirty seconds or so.”

“Thirty seconds, huh?” Steve said, sliding his hand around Tony’s waist and pulling him closer.

“I mean, at least,” Tony breathed against Steve’s lips.

And that’s when Nick Fury said, “And all I wanted was some bacon.”

Tony jerked back and spun toward the door. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing,” said Nick, taking a sip of a glass of prosecco.

“Nick,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “How’d you find us?”

“Uh, and more importantly, how are you not dead?” Tony said.

“Because I’m a spy,” Nick said. “And Edgar texted me.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Clint’s butler is on your payroll?” 

“Who do you think helped Barton find a butler?” Nick said. “Any eggs left, or should I come back after you two finish making out?”

“I’m pretty sure of the two surprising things going on here, you being alive is the bigger one,” Tony said.

“Yeah, your boyfriend looks shocked,” Nick said, rolling his eyes.

Tony rounded on Steve. “You knew?” 

“It’s a long story,” Steve said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Yeah, add it to the list,” Tony said grumpily.

“I thought you said you were bringing bacon,” Clint called, coming down the hall behind Fury with Nat on his heels.

“The lovebirds were blocking the source,” Nick said.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not - ”

“The what?” Bruce said, bringing up the rear.

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?” Nick said, rounding on Natasha and Clint.

“Pretty sure it’s brand new, sir,” Natasha said, while Clint gave Tony a very enthusiastic thumbs up from behind her back.

“Wait, you knew about Nick?” Tony said. “Did _everybody_ know except me?”

Clint tilted his head thoughtfully. “Thor doesn’t know.”

“Thor lives in space!” Tony said, throwing his arms up in the air.

“Wait, how come you and Steve are hooking up and _we’re_ the ones being accused of hiding something?” Clint said.

“This conversation has escaped me,” Bruce said.


End file.
